Trials
by LittleBouquetOfMerthur
Summary: Sam's body is messed up from the trials, and Dean's overprotective fluttering and mother henning is stirring things in him supposed to be deeply suppressed. Fever strikes and Sam's a little delirious, and not in as complete control of his facilities as he'd have you believe. Wincest. S08 spoilers(ish).
1. Chapter 1

_Warnings: spoilers up til the end of season 8. Extreme sap. Like, seriously, more than usual, even more than my Merthur fics. Also general over description and lack of cohesion. Woops._

_Planning on several short chapters, if I can be bothered. See you in hell, bitches xx_

* * *

It was gross. It was nasty. And it felt like hell. Which, he supposed, was kind of the point; removing that particular brand of taint from his body. Sam's throat felt like he'd swallowed one of Cas' beehives from the angel's psych ward days, felt like the lumpy, scratchy and downright fire hot itchiness swirling from his mouth down to his chest was his soul being shredded and flayed by _dear_ old Luci in the pit. It felt like he had his own mini leviathan eating away inside his freaking oesophagus even as he was hacking up the blood it left in its wake. Good old purifying, making him feel just so damn good about himself.

Dean, of course, was mother-henning, which, in turn, was creating in Sam a fiesta of different reactions. It was amusing to see Dean pull his Batman voice on Sam just because he refused to have his temperature taken once again. It was annoying how Dean would flutter at his shoulder, monitoring what he did or didn't eat and trying to drown him in the amount of water he insisted was for "hydration purposes". And...deep, deep down, in a part of him he tried not to acknowledge? Sam was kind of...aroused by the sight of his big brother, all rough grit and macho, being stripped back to a soft and caring core all because he loved his Sammy so damn much that a fever and sore throat couldn't be abided.

But ew, right? Incest and all that. There was a reason Sam was suppressing these strictly _not cool_ and _dude that is sick_ kinds of thoughts. It was just not okay, entirely immoral and illegal on top of that. Not that the law matters all that much after everything they've done, but that's digressing from his point. Morality aside, Sam was scared. And that was his primary motivator for locking these thoughts in a mental demon's trap. Under any and all circumstances, he couldn't lose Dean. There was no Sam without Dean, and he'd like to think no Dean without Sam, selfish as that might be. He'd keep his inappropriate inclinations to himself, stew in angsty ennui whenever Dean wasn't looking.

As a matter of fact, he was doing an awesome job of hiding his _unseemly_ feelings toward his brother. Dean wasn't at all suspicious, everything was fine and working out, and –

"So, Sammy, you gonna tell me what your deal is any time soon?" Dean was standing over him with his lips pursed, all no-nonsense and stoic and really everything that made Sam all weak at the knees. Which was totally not helping.

Playing innocent, Sam brushed him off with a few blasé comments about what the fuck was he talking about and OH MY GOD STOP ATTACKING ME, which had Dean backtracking, hands in the air soothingly.

Heh. He was so smooth, Mission Avoid Suspicion was going so well right now that Sam's indulging in the eye candy of Dean's ass as he bent over the tray he'd just set down was totally excusable. Didn't suspect a thing.

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_Please review, you'll get your say, a virgin and all the entrails you can eat #VoteCrowley xx_


	2. Chapter 2

_Takes place at the end of S08E20 "Pac-Man Fever", continues onto S08E21 "The Great Escapist". Or something. It's just wherever it wants to be and is convenient for me to have it. Gets off canon after a bit, for story purposes, but whatever. And sorry for whatever the fuck this chapter is. I just needed to write something, even if it's not at all good._

* * *

"Okay look you were right. I should'a laid low, I-I know, I should'a hung back. I'm glad I was able-"

Dean cut him off with a rough embrace, startling Sam into silence. Despite the burning itch in his throat and the thumping white agony behind his eyes, he couldn't help but hugging his brother right back, gripping Dean's form and savouring the closeness.

"What do you say we find our prophet?" Dean asked, pulling away and grasping his arm. Sam gazed after him in shock. Had what happened with Charlie in the Jinn's warehouse shaken Dean so much he was willing to let Sam get back in the game?

* * *

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Uh…"

"Days, Sam, it's been three days."

Sam sighed. _So much for back in the game_. Then Dean whipped out his thermometer and it took everything in him to hold back an eye roll from which his eyes might never return. _Here we go again…_

* * *

With all the shit happening vis a vis Kevin and not knowing the third trial, it was all Sam could do to not collapse into a trembling, woozy, cough-blood spattered heap whilst they tried to figure things out. Dean's constant ministrations grew less amusingly cute and more annoying and depressing, regardless of the heavily sought after human contact it provided.

He draped one of the warm, fleecy green blankets around his shoulders and staggered out into the kitchen of the bunker. He knew Dean would purse his lips and give him attitude if he didn't eat, but Sam really wasn't hungry. Putting a few flakes of cereal and a tiny splash of milk in a bowl, he swished it around and dumped it into the sink, letting the crockery clatter around, just in case his brother was in hearing distance.

_Nghhh I feel like shit_, Sam moaned in his head, squinting and clutching at his face. He caught sight of himself in the reflective glass of a cabinet. Long hair matted on the side he slept on, eyes puffy, cheeks gaunt and sallow. _Fuck, I look like shit, too_.

"Heya Sleeping Beauty!" issued Dean's greeting from the doorway, flicking the kettle on for coffee as he entered the kitchen. "Eugh, you look like shit."

Sam cringed, self-conscious about his present state. "Thanks Dean, makes me feel loads better." He mightn't be too crash hot at the moment, but dang if Dean didn't. Freshly tousled hair, eyes shining as he lovingly served himself pie for breakfast, taut muscles flexing and contracting under that shirt – _fuck, Sam, pull yourself together. This is _Dean_ we're talking about here. Remember him, your _brother_?_

"You okay Sammy?"

Sam looked up, startled from his mental war, and panicked. "I'M FINE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" he screeched, sprinting from the room. _Ahh, still got it. He doesn't suspect a thing._

* * *

_Ugh, I am trash. This is trash. I am vehemently sorry for inflicting this upon you, dear sweet reader. _


End file.
